Thirty years ago today, I was 6 months old, and while the folks on our television tried desperately to determine who shot J.R., I uttered my first words: “Kristin Shepard!”

OK, OK, that’s not completely true . . . I had guessed it was Sue Ellen.

Jokes aside, today marks the 30th anniversary of the whodunit episode of the prime-time drama “Dallas,” watched that night by 83 million Americans, each a self-proclaimed criminologist. Everybody had a guess about who shot oilman J.R. Ewing, though, really, everybody on “Dallas” was a suspect for shooting this deliciously devilish Texan with a heart of black gold.

And after eight long months of “Who Shot J.R.” hoopla that, at times, superseded the 1980 presidential race, America discovered that he was indeed shot by Kristin — the sister of his wife, Sue Ellen, and his minx of a mistress who, conveniently, revealed that she was carrying J.R.’s baby, and thus he didn’t press charges.

And 30 years later, the show lives on through, well, “Dallas” dorks like me.

With a cult following like that of “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” or the National Hockey League, “Dallas” thrives today thanks to Internet sites, DVD collections, tourists who visit the fictitious Ewing home and, now, the Texas-sized news that was mistakenly omitted from the front page of this very newspaper: The TNT network is reviving the show next year (Who shot J.R. Jr.?).

Airing on CBS from 1978-91, “Dallas” invited America each week into the world of big business and big shoulder pads, back-stabbing and sucker-punches, crying and spying and lying and love triangles and love trapezoids (because you can’t spell Texas without s-e-x). In gaud we trust, “Dallas” told the story of the Ewing family, which made its fortune in oil and lived under the same roof at the Southfork Ranch (because that happens).

Famously played by Larry Hagman and Patrick Duffy, brothers J.R. and Bobby continuously battled for control of Ewing Oil, while battling rival businessman Cliff Barnes, who, of course, was the brother of Bobby’s wife. It was prime-time soap, yes sir.

Along the way, “Dallas” revolutionized the season-ending cliffhanger, galvanized a global following, made three-piece suits with Stetsons cool, brought back Bobby from the dead, gave Brad Pitt some of his first acting work, made Priscilla Presley famous for something other than her last name and gave Duffy a launching pad that, with many thanks, landed him on the sitcom “Step By Step.”

I didn’t find “Dallas” until 1998, when I stumbled upon a rerun, and I was instantly into the grandiose glitz and the how-did-I-not- see-that-coming plot twists. I was a liberal, Jewish Yankee hooked on a show about conservative, Christian Texans. It was my guilty pleasure.

That fall, I went to the University of Missouri, where I grappled with my desire of becoming cool and my desire to watch “Dallas” reruns (only the latter actually happened). I created the now-defunct “Ben’s Dallas Page,” a tribute website that featured “Dallas” tidbits, trivia and photos of character lookalikes (for instance, Mitch Cooper and Bo Derek). I wore a cowboy hat. I quoted J.R. Ewing. I dated sparingly.

Soon, however, I realized there were plenty of folks just like me in America, blogging and posting their thoughts about the daily “Dallas” reruns. The show lived on.

All these years later, “Dallas” had legs — and I’m not talking about Sue Ellen’s.

As an adult, I collected “Dallas” memorabilia, be it the trading cards they made (“I’ll give you three Bobbys and a J.R. for a Pamela”), a replica “EWING” license plate, Hagman’s autobiography, “Hello, Darlin’ ” (Pulitzer snub!) and a 1980 People magazine with J.R. on the cover and a Trivial Pursuit card, in which the pink entertainment category question simply asks: “Who shot J.R.?”

Now, as I’ve grown into adulthood, I consider myself a pretty cool customer, cultured and classy and such, and after my girlfriend moved in, I asked her if my quirky love for “Dallas” was, really, just my skeleton in my closet.

“No — it was in the living room! And the kitchen! Framed photos and ‘Dallas’ stuff everywhere!” (Incidentally, upon Erin moving in, some of my friends delicately told her not to mess with my memorabilia, for it would hurt the ” ‘Dallas’ feng shui.”)

When I’m not pontificating about the virtues of a campy 1980s TV show, I cover the Nuggets for The Denver Post, and last February, Erin flew with me to the NBA All-Star Weekend in, yep, Dallas.

Benjamin Hochman was a sports columnist for The Denver Post until August 2015 before leaving for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, his hometown newspaper. Hochman previously worked for the New Orleans Times-Picayune, winner of two Pulitzer Prizes for its Hurricane Katrina coverage. Hochman wrote the Katrina-themed book “Fourth and New Orleans,” published in 2007.